


Remember This

by dsa_archivist



Category: due South
Genre: Episode Related, M/M, Romance, Slash
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2000-04-04
Updated: 2000-04-04
Packaged: 2018-11-10 19:20:15
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,895
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11133093
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dsa_archivist/pseuds/dsa_archivist
Summary: What was left out of "You Must Remember This"?





	Remember This

**Author's Note:**

> Note from Speranza, the archivist: this story was once archived at [Due South Archive](http://fanlore.org/wiki/Due_South_Archive). To preserve the archive, I began manually importing its works to the AO3 as an Open Doors-approved project in June 2017. I tried to reach out to all creators about the move and posted announcements, but may not have reached everyone. If you are (or know) this creator, please contact me using the e-mail address on [Due South Archive collection profile](http://archiveofourown.org/collections/duesoutharchive).

 

 

Untitled

**Rating** : PG-13, I suppose  
 **Pairing** : Fraser/Vecchio  
 **Spoilers** : "You Must Remember This"  
 **Notes** : My muse is playing with my head  
again.  "You Must Remember This" was written by Peter Lefcourt and  
directed by David Warry-Smith.  Everything else fell out of my very  
own brain, including errors.  And there may be a few dialog changes  
minor, I assure you.  
Transcript (dialog) from The  
Real Due South  
Credits from William  
and Elyse's Due South page  
 **Warnings and Disclaimers** :  The usual  
\- unowned but not unloved, yadda, yadda, yadda.  If they get dirty  
or overheated, I'll hose 'em off before I put 'em up.  Anything  
more than a friendly handshake is at your own risk, folks, just like  
real life.  
 **Feedback** : yes, please.   
Comments to

*********************** 

**Remember This**   
**M.**

One comfortable dark night in Chicago, two disparate friends and a half-wolf glided smoothly through the streets in a 1971 bottlegreen Buick Riviera.  The friends bickered amicably, as was their habit.  The wolf dreamed of chocolate rabbits snuggled on jelly donuts nests surrounded by mountains of Cheez Doodles, as was his habit. 

The driver said to his friend, "I give you that shot a hundred times, you'll never make it again.  Looked like something you'd do on ice skates. This ain't hockey, Fraser, okay? This is basketball.  A good American game." 

Ah.  An Opening.  Once upon a time, Fraser could have honestly asserted that he was only interested in the educational opportunity of correcting Ray's misapprehensions.  These days, he was forced to ruefully admit, the pleasure of exasperating Ray far outweighed any altruistic motives.  He wasn't quite sure when teasing Ray had become more important than the exchange of factual information, but there you go. 

With a gentle smile that he carefully kept out of his voice, Fraser said, "Well, perhaps it has become Americanized, Ray, but like many things Americans lay claim to it originated elsewhere." 

Ray, of course, disputed that vigorously.  Vigorously, loudly, and with hand gestures that continually endangered his driving.  He pretended outrage, but amusement was clear in every expansive gesture.  Fraser, of course, kept talking. 

".. Reverend Naismith eventually immigrated to the United States.  As a matter of fact, he was working at a YMCA in Springfield, Massachusetts of all places when he -- Stop the car." 

Startled, Ray asked, "What?"  He'd pushed the brake before he heard the answer. 

In anyone else's life, a car parked in a fire zone would have been ignored, or tolerated.  In anyone else's life, the car would contain a little old lady who needed directions, or a befuddled accountant looking for a date.  In anyone else's life but Ray's, that is.  Instead, Ray's life was equipped with a full-size, completely functional Mountie with the optional radar crime detector, and the car concealed a gun-wielding thug.  Of course. 

The sequence of events was rapid and inevitable.  Somewhat surprising that the gun wasn't discharged into Fraser's face, but sometimes the angels pull overtime for the good guys.  Diverted by Fraser's footrace against modern horsepower, the angels managed to miss Ray's little set-to with the Riv and an oncoming vehicle.  Or maybe not... 

In any event, by the time Fraser reached Ray, called for help, and had explained the situation to the dispatcher, the first batch of uniforms, the second batch of uniforms, the desk sergeant, the lieutenant on duty, and what seemed to be half the uniformed populace of Chicago, Ray was awake and talking earnestly to a paramedic. 

"There was this woman," Ray said dreamily. 

"Uh-huh." 

"I just opened my eyes and there she was. The most beautiful woman I ever saw." 

Noncommittal, the paramedic repeated, "Uh huh."  He turned to Fraser, as he might to any seemingly responsible adult who hadn't just tried to outrun a car, and asked over Ray's head, "How long was he unconscious?" 

"Four maybe five minutes."  Fraser frowned slightly, trying to remember more details.  Head injuries were tricky, as he knew from experience.  While it seemed possible that Ray had seen a woman, perhaps, it was also possible that Ray was simply confused or disoriented or even describing an incident that had happened years ago.  Or to someone else.  Resurrecting some plot element from a midnight movie on TNT, perhaps. 

Ray insisted, "She pulled me to safety and then she kissed me." 

Another "uh-huh" from the paramedic was trampled under Fraser's surprised, "She kissed you?" 

"On the lips."  Ray was smirking.  Fraser struggled to conceal his shock.  Ray kissed a stranger, and he was showing every indication he was pleased to have done so. 

The paramedic shrugged and spoke again over Ray's abused noggin.  "Head injury. It happens." 

Ignoring the man, Fraser focused on Ray.  He must help Ray distinguish phantoms from reality.  He asked slowly, "Did she speak to you?" 

In that same satisfied, bewildered voice, Ray replied, "She wanted to stay.  I know she did.  Then she was gone.  She wants me to find her, Fraser." 

"Uh huh." 

Finally annoyed, Ray asked, "You want to stop with the uh huh-ing?" 

If Ray had been himself, Fraser might have tried a mild reprimand for the tone.  But irritation was the first typically "Ray" thing the detective had expressed since he'd awakened, and relief overwhelmed any other response.  Gently, Fraser asked, "Do you remember what she looked like?" 

Smiling, Ray said, "She looked exquisite." 

Together, Fraser and the paramedic intoned, "Uh huh." 

Ray recovered quickly, to all appearances.  His annoyance at the suggestion that his rescuer was also the hit and run driver was typical.  The half-serious "he's Canadian" explanation for Fraser's unorthodox behavior was also characteristic.  Despite that, Fraser remained concerned about his friend.  Ray's whole demeanor altered when the mysterious woman was mentioned, and his reactions were unlike anything Fraser had encountered with Ray before. 

The next day, after a troubled night's sleep, Fraser was relieved to listen to Ray's morning grumble.  He was almost ready to chide himself for over-reacting until a chance conversation with Elaine brought all his concerns roaring back to life. 

In the midst of a data search, Elaine asked, "So Fraser, how's the apartment furnishing coming along?" 

In his politest Mountie mode, Fraser replied, "Very well, thank you, Elaine.  As a matter of fact, I recently purchased a lamp." 

Elaine seemed fascinated.  "Really? A lamp." 

"Very good for reading," Fraser smiled conspiratorially at Ray, inviting him to share the joke. 

"Is that what you do at night?" the civilian aide asked. 

Fraser instantly regretted his playful impulse.  "Elaine we've got work to do here," Ray came to his rescue.  As always.  And things seemed normal again for a moment. 

Undaunted, Elaine spoke as she typed, "So what are you reading with this new lamp?" 

"Well, I've been reading a book about currency watermarks." 

Elaine remarked wistfully, "Alone?" and Fraser tried to catch Ray's eye.  In the instant before the computer found a match, Fraser realized that Ray wasn't merely putting on a professional façade.  His preoccupation with his mystery rescuer wasn't a way of teasing Fraser, of getting back at the Mountie for the basketball lecture.  Ray met Fraser's eyes with the idle curiousity of someone who doesn't know the answer to the question just asked.  The idle curiousity of someone who doesn't particularly care what that answer might be. 

Elaine rattled off entirely too much information on Frank Bodine, but Fraser wasn't really listening.  This was disaster.  Ray had apparently lost a small part of his memory to the head injury.  He didn't remember what he had shared with Fraser in the small apartment, under the glow of the new lamp. 

Don't panic, Fraser abjured himself.  Don't panic.  It was a slight trauma, he'll remember everything in a few days.  But what if Ray didn't remember everything?  What if he never remembered?  It wasn't as if they'd shared the events, those memories, with anyone else.  There was no one Fraser could consult.  If it had happened to anyone else, he'd have gone to Ray.  But Ray didn't remember.  Standing next to Ray and Elaine, Fraser realized he was alone for the first time in what seemed like forever. 

Stunned and bewildered that such a small change could have such devastating consequences, Fraser automatically thanked Elaine and followed Ray to consult with Lt. Welsh.  He suddenly realized that Diefenbaker was shamelessly hounding the Lieutenant for a piece of his lunch.  Distracted, he apologized for the wolf's behavior but didn't really care what Welsh thought of Dief, or vice versa. 

He watched Ray closely.  Ray seemed completely fine, except that he treated Fraser as a simple friend.  Sometimes more simple than friend, but that was Ray's way of showing affection and Fraser didn't mind. 

They set up the stakeout without incident.  All was quiet the first day.  On the second day, Huey and Gardino decided to stay and play cards.  Fraser was grateful for the opportunity to observe Ray with others, and waited cautiously to see whether the change he'd observed in Ray was noticeable to anyone else.  It wasn't, but the game itself and the conversation flowing around the game provided sufficient interest to make the time worthwhile. 

They'd been playing poker for almost two hours when Ray returned again to the subject that had preoccupied him since the accident.  Fraser was heartily sick of Ray bemoaning the chance encounter, but nothing he said or did seemed to stem the tide. 

Arranging his cards, Ray said, "Give me three. It's all about signs." 

Gardino said, "Two. What do you mean signs?" 

Ray gave Louis a pitying look.  "Women give men signs to let them know they're the right woman for you." 

Undisturbed, Gardino noted, "She hit you with a car. You call that a sign?" 

The last thing Fraser wanted was another opportunity for Ray to dwell on That Woman.  Agitated, he blurted much too brightly, "You know when the French fall in love they say they've been hit by a coup de foudre?" 

Three Chicago cops looked up from their cards, and three Chicago voices were raised in confusion.  Fraser realized he'd dropped another boulder into the conversational pool, and hurried to clarify.  "A bolt of lightning.  Love is a very disorienting emotion," he confided.  "As a matter of fact, they've done experiments that demonstrate that hamsters when they're mating secrete a hormone that makes them behave irresponsibly." 

Ray ignored the subtle comparison.  "Do you know how my father knew my mother was the right woman for him?  Three."  He looked each man in the eye, waiting expectantly.  As though he were imparting a Secret of the Universe, Ray breathed the answer.  "Cheesecake." 

Huey complained that the card playing suffered with excessive discussion, but soon Ray was able to continue his exposition.  "He was at his brother Angelo's wedding in Gary.  And everyone was having a great time. They were drinking wine, making toasts, and eating.  And all of a sudden he looks across the room and he sees this woman sitting there all by herself, eating cheesecake with a knife and fork.  I mean, come on, how often do you see a person eating cheesecake with a knife and fork?  They either eat it with their fingers or just the fork." 

Fraser listened intently to Ray's story and carefully committed it to memory, as he did with everything Ray told him.  He wasn't sure what it meant, exactly, but it was important to Ray therefore it was important to him.  Through the beginnings of a headache, he heard Gardino ask, "It that why he married her? Because she was eating a piece of cheesecake with a knife and a fork?" 

"No, Gardino," Ray said patiently, "it was a sign. That's how he knew she was the right woman for him. She was a lady." 

Irked, Huey interrupted.  "You gonna call or what?" 

"I don't know," Gardino replied.  It wasn't really clear whether he was replying to Ray or Huey, and Fraser fought an impulse to snicker.  The late hour was having an unfortunate effect on him. 

Later, much later, so much later that Fraser's body was trying to tell him it was time to wake up, Ray was in the midst of a story.  Another story about women and men and love and signs.  The whole thing was so jumbled up in Fraser's head it would take three weeks of guard duty to sort out, but no one else seemed to notice his lapse. 

"...so there we were, parked in the Rivera.  It's two o'clock in the morning and she asks me where I think this relationship was going..." 

"Look--call or fold," Huey demanded. 

"I mean, come on," Ray continued without answering.  "What kind of question is that to ask someone at two o'clock in the morning?" 

"Perhaps she was just being prudent."  Why had he said that?  Stupid to call attention to himself.  Fraser had spent at least an hour in serene contemplation of Ray's elegant hands, letting the conversation wash around him unchallenged. 

"Are you in?"  Huey was focused on the game. 

Ray granted Fraser the same pitying look he'd used earlier on Gardino.  "Fraser, when has prudent any business being in love?  I'm telling you man, it was a beautiful summer night and there was a breeze coming in off the lake.  This is no time to sit and talk about the future." 

Huey grumbled, "The future is 'It's gonna be noon before we finish this game.' " 

"Talk is bad," Gardino said, ignoring his partner.  "You talk and before you know it, it's all over, you're married." 

Ray smiled.  "Right!  And then what?  What about love?  What about that moment when you know this is the person you want to spend every waking hour with for the rest of your life?" 

It took every ounce of self-control to keep Fraser from answering.  From letting the concerns and distress of the last two days pour out in a stream of accusations that would have gotten him committed for psychiatric evaluation.  Or worse.  Ray didn't remember, and there was nothing he could do about it.  He hid his sigh under reaching for his drink. 

Once again, Huey returned to the game in hand.  "Okay, my turn.  I call.  Look at this, I'm playing poker with myself." 

Ray wouldn't let it go.  "I'm telling you, you've got to have that special woman in your life or you know you'll never ever be the same again." 

Without meaning to, Fraser reluctantly asked, "When it happens, how do you know?" 

"You just know," Ray said confidently.  "You just know. And that's what happen to me on Saturday night. I got the sign." 

"Now all ya got to do is find her," Gardino put in helpfully. 

"Hey, I'll find her, I'll find her." 

"I got a flush."  Gardino reached for the pot of matchsticks. 

Apologetic, Fraser stopped him.  "Well, I'm sorry, Louis, it would appear I have a Royal House." 

"A what?"  Confused, Huey looked at the cards.  "A full house, Fraser." 

"Oh, so it is.  I'm terribly sorry."  And he swept all the matchsticks into the pile in front of him.  Game over. 

"Look at this!  A Mountie sand bagging.  Who ever heard of a Mountie sand bagging?" 

"You only meet the woman of your dreams once in a lifetime," Ray mused.  "I'll find her. Just watch." 

Fraser wanted to reassure Ray, but couldn't in good conscience offer any help or encouragement to the Italian's wayward heart.  What he could do, and did, was offer his own memories of confusion and loss.  He'd never revealed the turmoil of that occasion to anyone, and waited until he and Ray were alone to make his confession. 

In the dark, unable to face his friend, Fraser spoke to the pane before him.  "You know, there was a woman once, Ray.  We were, uh... I don't know what we were.  In the end I tracked her up above the 62nd parallel into a place called Fortitude Pass.  A storm had been blowing for days; the whole world was white.  By the time I found her I had lost everything -- my packs, my supplies, my -- everything.  She was huddled in the lee side of a mountain crag.  She was almost frozen, and very near death.  So I staked a lean-to and draped my coat across it, drew her inside, and I covered her body with mine and I just held her... while the storm closed around us like a blanket, until all I could hear was the sound of her heartbeat, weakening.  I forced her to speak to me... just talk to me ... say anything to keep the cold from taking her.  And it snowed for a day... and a night... and a day.  I was delirious; I almost gave up.  The only thing I had to hold onto was the sound of her voice, which never wavered.  She recited a poem.  You know a funny thing, I must have heard that poem a thousand times that night; I never heard the words. 

"It ended ...badly.  She had a ... she had a darkness inside her ... and the most beautiful voice. The most beautiful voice you've ever heard."  Breathless, Fraser listened for Ray's reaction to this revelation.  Waited an agonized moment for the exposed nerves to be struck and his own unconsidered reaction.  Unable to wait longer, Fraser turned to find Ray sleeping quietly in the chair behind him. 

It was a relief, in a way.  He'd never told anyone the whole story before, and the emotions that roiled through the telling made him queasy.  He would have liked to hear Ray's views, but afraid that his own reactions would make listening impossible.  Ray was asleep.  It was probably for the best. 

The next day started crazy, and got crazier.  The Woman hadn't just happened to be on the same road as Frank Bodine that night.  She knew him.  Knew his apartment.  Knew how to disable a cop without serious damage.  Knew Ray was following her, and allowed it.  Until she chose to lose them.  She knew how to do that, too. 

The new knives in Fraser's heart were small, silly, throwaway comments Ray made in passing.  The first was something about shorty pajamas, whatever those might be, and muffins at Christmas.  Fraser could only guess at the meaning, but it wasn't reassuring. 

The second was the dismissive way Ray treated his experiences with women.  Admittedly, those experiences were limited, and it was unfair to blame Ray for being asleep during the soul-baring he'd done the night before, but Fraser was sorely provoked by Ray's flippant assumption that being a Mountie meant being unable to recognize love.  Particularly when he should have known better. 

Looking back on the day, Fraser remembered only two key points.  Not the triangulation on the cell phone, not nearly getting shorn in half by automatic weapons fire, not even listening to Ray throw away his career for a woman who'd tried to kill him three times. 

Fraser remembered the feeling of standing next to Ray, behind the Riv, watching a six-ton steel-plated military weapons carrier hurtle at them at approximately 47 miles per hour.  Ray's complete confidence in himself, and Fraser's complete confidence in Ray.  Well, complete confidence might be overstating the case a bit.  But Fraser knew that they'd live or die together, and that let him face certain doom with a calm heart. 

Standing beside the Riv again, after the carrier had flown off the road only feet from the automotive classic.   After Ray had encouraged his mysterious lady to flee.  After she'd identified herself as a Federal agent.  Shoulder to shoulder with Ray, as it should be. 

Ray moaned, "Gonna ask for my shield, Fraser.  Nine years on the force down the drain." 

"There were mitigating circumstances Ray." 

"She's a Fed, Fraser.  I offered to let her go.  She's gonna put that in her report and three minutes later Welsh is gonna call me in his office and ask for my shield and they'll be right.  I would have bet my soul on her, Fraser.  Stupid." 

You can bet your soul on me, Ray.  You've done it before.  But Ray still didn't remember.  Fraser put a comforting arm around Ray, and avoided examining his motivations too closely. 

At the end of the day, Fraser dug out an old, grainy photo and spent long minutes pondering the strange twists life handed him.  He'd finally spoken about Victoria.  To no one, as it happened, but it was the first step along that road he'd taken in years.  More than ever, he regretted the choices he'd made regarding the dark lady in the picture.  More than ever, he wished for a different outcome to their brief encounter.  More than ever, he knew he'd do the same thing again, make the same mistakes.  It wasn't in him to forgive, the way Ray could forgive.  He'd chosen a different path, and there was no going back.  No second chances. 

Ray's memory hadn't returned, and it was foolish to cling to the hope that they'd wake up some morning with everything back to normal.  No second chances.  Thoroughly depressed, Fraser snapped off the light and laid on the bed. 

Minutes later, there was a knock on the door.  Wondering what trouble his neighbors had fallen into at that time of night, Fraser called wearily, "Come in." 

Ray stood in the doorway, the hall light spilling golden around his shoulders and shrouding his face.  "Hey, Benny, got time for a question?" 

"Sure, Ray.  What is it?"  Fraser sat on the edge of the bed and looked placidly at Ray. 

Ray moved to the center of the room, studying the shadowed corners intently.  "Were you ever going to say something?" 

Hope shifted somewhere deep in Fraser.  He pushed it away.  "Something about what?" 

"About me.  And you.  And me and you.  Us.  Were you going to say something to me about us, or were you just going to pretend it never happened?"  It came out like an accusation. 

"What should I have said, Ray?"  Fraser managed to sound interested in the response, while biting off the sarcastic flood that threatened to drown him. 

"How about, why are you babbling about signs and mysterious women when I'm standing right here?  What about, Ray, what were you thinking?  Or maybe, hey, stupid, remember me?"  In the half-light, Ray's smile was warm. 

Fraser responded to the lazy heat of that smile without thinking.  Standing inches from Ray, he used both hands to push Ray's coat off his shoulders.  "Remember me?" he breathed. 

Ray's long, clever fingers popped open the first six buttons on the silly red longjohns, dragged the fabric off Fraser's shoulders, let it provide a degree of restraint.  Fraser stood quietly, chest exposed, waiting.  His eyes closed, silent joy, as Ray fanned strong fingers across smooth skin and gently brushed his thumbs over suddenly taut nipples.  Palms rested against ribs, a healer's pose.  Ray smiled again, and moved in for a kiss.  "Remember this?" 

Fraser answered questions with questions.  "What about love, Ray?" he whispered.  He smiled an invitation and laid down again on the narrow bed.  "What about that moment when you know this is the person you want to spend every waking hour with for the rest of your life?" 

Covering him like a blanket, Ray murmured into flushed Canadian skin.  "What about the sleeping hours, Benny?" 

"Those, too."   
  

Return to Archive   
  


End file.
